


Paramour

by JustJasper



Series: Paramour [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Anal Sex, Coercion, Community: angst_bingo, Dubious Consent, Electricity, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape, Torture, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unsub casts Morgan and Reid in his twisted project: they couldn't have imagined the roles he has for for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paramour

**“Perhaps watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can.” - Dodie Smith**

The BAU had been chasing an unsub who was kidnapping people and filming what he forced them to do. The first case hadn’t become apparent straight away, until the bodies of two women were identified as the same women starring in an experimental indie movie at a local film festival in Oregon. The film had involved some weird ‘acting’ in animal masks, but it hadn’t included their deaths. Subsequent releases from the unsub’s studio – the film quality was professional, the technique skilled – had gotten more violent, more twisted, more sexual, until the fifth film actually portrayed the death of a man and a woman, both shot execution style.

They hadn’t realised how close they were, and Reid and Morgan had gone back to the empty house where the first bodies were found, and had been taken by surprise when the bedroom they were in had started filling with smoke. Morgan had attempted to kicked open the door that had been shut behind them, and then tried the window, but they had quickly been overwhelmed and were unconscious in minutes.

As soon as consciousness returned Morgan remembered the fumes filling the room he’d been in with Reid. He blinked, trying to focus, and then felt a pressure at his neck. Instinctively he reached out, grabbing at a wrist hard, immobilising it.

“Morgan, it’s me.”

He blinked a few more times, things finally focusing. He was lying on a rough grey carpet in a beige room, with Reid kneeling at his side. He pushed himself up, groaning and body-checking himself; no guns, no ID, and something heavy at his neck. Reid was leaning in very close to him, his chin hovering above his shoulder, without actually touching him. It was strange, for Reid to put himself in such close proximity when they weren’t in private – they were alone, but they both knew from the profile of the unsub that it wasn’t private. There was a heavy metal collar around Reid’s neck, with an electrical panel on the side.

“Electric shock collar, I think,” Reid murmured. “To maintain compliance. The sedative in the fume canisters was fast-acting, so we were right that he has other methods of maintaining control than drugs. His methods must vary, there were no collars in the other films.”

Reid pushed back onto his haunches and then up onto his feet, and Morgan followed, scanning the room. The light was harsh and bright, illuminating a room that looked just like a dressing room; a dressing table with a chair was pushed against a huge wall mirror, and they didn’t have to confer to both assume it was two-way.

Overhead there was an audible crackle, and both men quickly found the source, a round speaker embedded into the wall above the heavy locked door.

 _“Two minute call,”_ Came a drawling, silky male voice. _“Actors on set in two minutes.”_

“Oh hell no,” Morgan murmured, lifting his hands to feel at the collar around his neck. “I am not starring in one of his sick movies, e-” he spasmed suddenly at a sudden quick zap of pain administered by the collar. “Ough! Show your face you son of a bitch,” he said clearly into the room, fighting the urge to rub his neck that itched uncomfortably from the shock.

“They’ll find us,” Reid said, arching his neck a little, conscious of his own collar. “We must have been closer than we thought.”

Two minutes were spent looking around the room; checking the edge of the mirror, under the dressing table, looking for anything that might give them an insight or an advantage.

A loud buzzing sounded and the door clicked open as the speaker crackled into life again.

_“No dawdling now my players, please make your way to the studio so we can get started.”_

“I’m not playing his damn game,” Morgan murmured. Reid looked sideways at him.

“We don’t have a choice. We have just have to stay alive.”

“And how are we meant to do that? We don’t know if he kills when he gets what he wants, or out of frustration for not g-gggh!”

A shock was administered to both of them, enough to hurt.

 _“Come on now,”_ the voice sounded amused. _“That was a mild shock. You don’t want to experience the voltage they can achieve.”_

Through the door of the dressing room was a bare corridor, with only one way to go. Glancing back at the door they’d passed through Reid paused for just a second and grimaced, but it was enough to attract Morgan’s attention, and he too caught sight of the gold star plaque on the door, with both of their names on it. They shared a look of significance and resolve, and continued down the corridor.

The next doorway led them into a large sound stage, a converted warehouse with stairs against the far wall leading up to a metal gangway a story up, a vantage on the whole place. The ground floor was empty but for the multiple lights and cameras focused on a small set; it consisted of what was apparently a mattress on the floor, covered with a large swath of crimson crushed velvet and half a dozen luxury cushions scattered. Several small wooden tables nearby were covered in lit candles, and the studio lights were low, ambient.

 _“Welcome, actors!”_ the voice wasn’t a recording now, it was coming from the walkway. When both sets of eyes were trained on where the noise came from, a spotlight burst into life, illuminating a shadowy figure standing above them. _“Come closer, you need to be briefed.”_

Neither men wanted to comply, but they knew the consequences if they didn’t could risk their lives, so they both moved until they were directly in front of the unsub, looking up at him. From here his body language was clearer; he was calm, leaning with his arms set wide on the railing, wearing a fashionable suit and his face in shadow.

 _“Ah yes,”_ he sighed lazily, _“I can work with you two. Not my first choice of cast, I’ll be honest,”_  he said conversationally. _“At least not together. You, Derek, would have been a joy in something physical, with someone a physical match, for a commentary on the brutality of anger, the very reach of rage. Yes. You Spencer; lean, long. Shapes and lines, a more experimental piece.”_

“We’re not here to play your games,” Morgan growled. He was rewarded with a short sharp shock that made him gasp, but he fought to keep his composure.

 _“This is not a game, Derek,”_   he chided. _“This is art. Granted this is rather short notice for you to be cast, but I had to work with the situation. You won’t be scripted, of course. That’s certainly not fair to ask of you on such short notice. It’s not my favoured technique anyhow; I prefer to set a beginning, with the intent of an end, and see how my talented actors get there.”_

“Why-” Reid started, but the unsub pressed what was evidently the remote in hand and he was shocked into silence.

_“Questions can wait, Spencer. You have a story to create, a scene to set. As you may be able to guess, this work is about passion. About the raw feelings of two lovers. It is called ‘Paramour’s Agony’.”_

“We’re not lovers,” Derek said sharply, even though it was a lie. Reid didn’t even glance at him, and Derek hoped he understood; he didn’t want to imagine the ironic torture that could be inflicted on them if the unsub realised they were connected by more than work and friendship.

 _“No, you’re actors,"_ the unsub sounded exasperated _. “I believe you both capable of convincing an audience that you are lovers.”_

The lighting suddenly changed, the lights behind them focused on the set dimmed a little more, and lights along the edge of the room went out, leaving pools of light on the set and the spotlight on the unsub.

_“Undress.”_

“No,” Morgan barked on instinct, because he could no longer pretend the unsub wasn’t going to make them do what he feared. It earned him a shock.

_“Nudity in cinema is quite standard. It was in your contract. Undress.”_

“What contract?” Reid asked.

 _“The one you signed when you arrived.”_   He sounded impatient.

No such event had occurred, but Reid reasoned that the unsub was delusional, and probably didn’t require them to be conscious to sign his contracts.

_“Now, undress.”_

“I’m not doing it.” Morgan balled his fists. “I am not having sex with him for your sick fantasy. I’m not hurting him for your damn game.”

Morgan knew it was coming, but the shock was stronger and longer than the previous ones, so much that his knees buckled and he fell to them before it was over. Panting, he slowly got back to his feet.

 _“I think you misunderstand you role.”_   The unsub’s hold on the railing shifted a little. _“Spencer will be taking the role of the penetrating partner in this scene.”_

“What?” Reid’s eyes went wide, searching for Morgan’s gaze and registering a fear he hadn’t seen before. They hadn’t done that; Derek had never been the one penetrated, and Spencer didn’t begrudge him that, considering discussion of their boundaries had clearly revealed there was nothing but traumatic memories of that experience.

Morgan fought to keep his face straight; he never wanted to do that again. He hadn’t even considered it with Reid, and he trusted him, let alone under these conditions with a mad serial killer watching them.

“I’m not doing it.” Reid looked defiant, and Morgan braced himself. The unsub hit the switch on his remote and both of them spasmed with the shock administered by the collar.

 _“I’m only going to say this once, Spencer,”_   the unsub drawled. _“If you fail to comply to my direction, I’ll have to step into your role and do it myself. And then I’ll gut you both and film you scrambling around in each other’s blood and intestines. A rather more gory art than I’m usually fond of, but perhaps a logical expansion of my talent. Now take off your clothes and get on set.”_

Belts and shoes were first, then under the unsub’s gaze slowly the rest of their clothing came off, as they tried to delay the inevitable without receiving another shock for taking too long.

 _“Derek, if you could get on your back on the bed,”_   the unsub instructed, _“Spencer, I’ll direct you throughout if I feel the scene is getting away from you. The end of the scene is predictable really; once you’ve ejaculated the scene will be concluded.”_

With that the spotlight went out, leaving just the set that the men were on illuminated.

“Morgan,” Reid breathed, not wanting to use his first name, because the unsub was.

“Oh god, Reid,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he didn’t have a choice – if he refuses the unsub would hurt them, hurt Reid, and then take it upon himself to do what they wouldn’t.

“I’m not doing this,” Spencer said, looking up at their captor. He couldn’t do that to Morgan, couldn’t make him face something that quite plainly terrified him. He expected a shock, but it didn’t come; instead Morgan cried out and dropped hard onto the mattress, spasming with the force of the shock.

“No!” Reid yelled. “Stop it! Okay, okay! Stop it, I’ll do it!”

Morgan went limp, panting and unable to hide the whine from his throat. Reid dropped onto his knees beside Morgan, and reached out a tentative hand to stroke his thigh. With no input from the unsub Reid met the other’s man eye and watched him helplessly shrug.

 _“You need to get yourself hard,”_   The unsub said through the dark. Reid bit back a retort.

“Here,” Morgan muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position, stretching his neck out uncomfortably as he reached for Reid’s cock.

“Morgan,” it was almost a warning from Reid, whose throat had tightened at the sense of resignation Morgan was displaying. He couldn’t help the brief second of wonder whether it was how he’d survived through Buford’s abuse, by resigning to it happening.

Morgan just gave him a significant look; despite the situation Reid’s arousal was already stirring under Morgan’s familiar grip. Knowing what was going to happen, Reid mirrored the action, wanting to try and make it easier, maybe even pleasant for Morgan – as pleasant as it could be under duress. He’d never pressured Morgan about changing their sexual roles, but he considered it a possible development in their sexual relationship, one he intended to make just as good for Morgan as it was for him should it come to pass. He had never imagined it would happen like this.

Beside them one of the cameras whirred as it was zoomed, all of them remote controlled, capturing multiple angles; there were at least nine cameras all around the set, there was even a camera directly above them.

 _“You’re hard now,”_   the unsub said, “ _get on with the scene.”_

“We need lubricant, and a condom,” Reid said.

_“That’s not part of the scene.”_

“I’ll hurt him.”

 _“That’s the point!”_   the unsub insisted. _“Love and pain! Passion and suffering!”_

Morgan had already laid back on the pillows when Reid’s attention returned to him, which made the genius let out a surprised little burst of air. He moved between the man’s slightly parted legs, and after hesitating a few seconds, bent his head to kiss him, to reassure him.

 _“No kissing!”_   the unsub shouted.

“I thought we were meant to be lovers,” Reid said, knowing they were being recorded close enough for the unsub to hear him without shouting. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of his frustration.

 _“No kissing,”_   he repeated, and Reid felt his collar jolt with a small shock to remind him.

“Morgan...”

“It’s okay Reid, just do it.”

Reid lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked his middle finger, trying to coat it with as much saliva as he could.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it easier,” he murmured as he circled the digit around Morgan’s puckered entrance. This was as far as things had gone with Morgan, a gentle finger reaching that private area, just getting him used to the idea without going any further. Not this time. “Breathe,” he instructed, and as Morgan did, he pressed his finger forward past resisting muscle.

Morgan hissed and gritted his teeth, eyes screwing shut. The erection Reid had given him was quickly diminishing, and with that in mind he reached for Reid’s, stroking the dwindling hardness. He didn’t want a great pause between Reid’s valiant attempts at preparation and the ultimate act while he had to get hard again. Reid was moving his finger slowly, a gentle thrust that burned with friction, but Morgan forced his eyes open. He curled his finger to find his prostate, and Morgan was surprised to feel a jolt in his groin even through the pain. Reid registered that and repeated that, but each time the little burst of pleasurable stimulation stirred his arousal the pain of the digit in his unprepared orifice effectively killed it.

Gentle Reid extracted the finger, lifting his hand to wet two this time, and returned them to Morgan’s hole. Brow tightly knotted as watched Morgan’s face, he pushed them into his real and pretend lover, having to push his lips together tightly when Morgan’s face twisted in pain, a groan escaping him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Morgan lied. “I’ve had worse.” Truth. The sentiment didn’t reassure Reid, because he knew the last time Morgan had been touched like this was at the hands of an abuser. And now even though Morgan was giving consent because he had to, he didn’t want to be touched like that.

 _“That’s enough,”_ The unsub drawled. _“Commence penetrative sex.”_

“We need more time to-gggh!” Another shock.

 _“Actors,”_  he huffed. _“You are trying my patience.”_

“Fine!” he cut desperately, licking at his hand and trying to transfer the wetness to his cock. It was not going to be enough, and he could feel his pulse in the back of his throat, with a rising feeling of nausea.

“C’mon Reid,” Morgan hushed, the grip on the man’s arms giving away that he was not really calm. Reid positioned his tip at Morgan’s under-prepared entrance, his other arm bracing him above the man, who had set his knees wide to make things easier, gripping Reid’s biceps. He couldn’t. He knew Morgan didn’t want it, not even slightly, and he knew it was going to hurt him. He hated at some part of him did want it; not like this, he wanted Morgan to want it, wanted it to come naturally. This was too soon, Morgan wasn’t ready; the only association he had with this was Buford. Reid wanted to scream at the knowledge he was going to replicate that situation, that pain.

 _“Get on with it, Spencer,"_   the unsub chided.

Before he could get shocked again he was caught off guard by pressure from Morgan’s heels digging into his rear, and with a sudden shove Morgan had effectively impaled himself on an inch or so of Reid’s cock. He gasped at the sudden tight heat and Morgan hissed and groaned, putting his feet back on the mattress and gripping hard to Reid’s arms, his eye tight shut and his head thrown back with the pain.

“I’m sorry!” he murmured, a hand stroking the man’s thigh in what he hoped was a reassuring way, his other hand clutched in the crushed velvet, supporting himself above the man. A glance between them made it clear Morgan’s flagging erection had completely wilted, so he reached for it, hoping he could distract the man from the penetration.

A sudden jolt from the shock collar made his hips bump forward, stabbing another inch into Morgan, who all but yelled out.

“Stop!” Reid said through gritted teeth, mortified that his body had been manipulated like that.

 _“Push it all into him,”_   the unsub said, sounding impatient. _“And leave his genitals alone.”_

“I-”

“Reid,” Morgan snapped, bringing his focus back to him. “He wants it to hurt me. Just do it.”

“Morgan-”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but if Reid lost it he’d get shocked again. “He’s an artist,” Morgan murmured, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice because he knew the unsub could hear him, “he wants his work to be perfect. So we have to _do it right_.” He gave Reid a significant looking, hoping ‘do it right’ translated as ‘comply and not have him kill us prematurely’. Reid twitched with a small shock from the collar.

_“I won’t tell you again, Spencer.”_

“Okay.” He braced with both hands and pushed his hips forward. Morgan arched below him, screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He was painfully tight, nervous and clenched, and for the first time in his life Reid wished his dimensions were smaller. He didn’t spare his sanity, he didn’t think he deserved, it, and watched Morgan’s face as he forced himself into his unwilling body inch by slow inch. Morgan didn’t open his eyes again until he felt Reid’s pelvis pressed against him. There were tears at the corners of his eyes, and his breath was laboured, his nails digging in hard to Reid’s biceps.

Reid didn’t dare keep still, to avoid either of them being shocked, but the movement of his hips was tiny, Morgan so tight his cock stayed anchored still while he moved his hips. Maybe he could keep doing that and he wouldn’t have to hurt Morgan with any real movement. The genius tried not to think about the cameras, about the studio lights, about the unsub watching them, and lowered his forehead against Morgan’s, damp under the studio lighting, resisting the urge to kiss him to try and take the edge off the pain, mindful of the unsub’s instruction not to.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan murmured, lifting a hand and gripping the back of Reid’s neck. “I’m sorry I ever made you do this. God, I forgot how bad it _hurts_.”

He knew a heart breaking was a figure of speech, but his chest actually hurt at Morgan’s strangled words.

“This is not the same as what we do,” Reid hushed, not caring if it revealed them to the unsub; he wasn’t interjecting, so perhaps playing voyeur to their exchange was keeping him entertained, a whole new real level to his art. “You don’t hurt me, not like this. This isn’t the same, okay?”

Morgan nodded.

 _“Oh, ad-libbing? I adore method actors,”_   the unsub tittered. _“How delicious! Such grasp of the characters! Pick up the tempo, Spencer.”_

“Move, Reid,” Morgan ordered. As Reid began to drag his hips back and push forward through resistance, he wished Morgan was asking him to move because he wanted it, because it felt good, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

The motion burnt, and Morgan tried to fight back sounds of pain even as his most sensitive flesh stung. It was better and it was worse than when Buford had abused him; Buford had used condoms which were lubricated, there was nothing but a tacky coating of saliva to serve as lubricant with Reid; it was useless, and he was clearly unwilling to use the brute force required to set any kind of pace.

“Reid,” he prompted, the sound catching painfully in his throat. He nodded, pulling back again and pushing forward, each grunt it earned him from Morgan like a blow to his gut. He tried to keep them as shallow as possible, not moving more than two inches, enough to satisfy the unsub, but trying to avoid hurting the other man.

“You need to relax,” Reid whispered, knowing what he was asking. “Push out like-”

“Reid I can’t relax, just do it. Do it.”

Morgan found himself counting each inward thrust. Five, six, seven; he let out a groan, gripping harder at Reid’s neck. Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty; it stung worse, and he arched below Reid, fighting the very real urge to push him off him and end the pain. Fifty one, fifty two, fifty three; he swore and Reid looked like he was going to stop but Morgan’s eyes pleaded for him not to. Seventy six, seventy seven, seventy eight; his hands were braced on Reid’s chest, pushing him away even though he knew he couldn’t stop it. Reid was pushing back against him, a dry sob clawing its way out of his throat at the realisation that he was actively having to force himself on Morgan, that even his coerced consent was faltering. Ninety eight, ninety nine, one hundred; when Morgan moved his head he could feel dampness on the soft pillows from his crying.

“You need to go faster,” Morgan ground out.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was fraying with the effort of not screaming out at the disgust and shame he felt, that even as he could feel Morgan’s body reacting to the pain he was still hard.

“You’re already hurting me.” He barely covered a little sob with a whine and a grunt, which felt just a little less shameful. “I need this to end. Move faster.”

Dutifully Reid did, even though Morgan was no longer able to keep his noises in check; the sounds of pain became constant, hisses and whines and panting, hitched breaths from sobs kept at bay and a face streaked with tears.

 _“Wonderful!”_   the unsub cried out through the dark. “ _Perfect! Spencer drawing it out, yes, perfect! Oh Derek, exquisite acting. Stunning. It takes a skilled actor to make pain and tears look so real.”_

“Uggh,” Morgan sounded, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing out more tears.

_“I didn’t expect this of you! I knew you’d both be competent players, but I didn’t expect such a nuanced performance, Derek. You really are an artist.”_

Reid didn’t dare to look between them; the saliva he’d used as lubricant had long since dried up, and he was using shear force to violate Morgan over and over, breaching his tight channel. But there was a new sensation, a stickiness he suspected was blood. He considered it might be better to die than to keep hurting Morgan, but refusing meant leaving Morgan to the mercy of an enraged unsub.

Morgan knew Reid was hard by stimulation alone, that it was only the friction, heat and motion that was keeping him erect. He also knew he needed with every fibre of his being for the ordeal to be over. So when Reid’s grip either side of his ribs slipped, Morgan circled his arms around Reid’s back, spreading his hands out, pressing his cheek to the other man’s, lips close to his ear.

“C’mon baby,” he said as softly and smoothly as he could through the pain, “fuck me.”

Reid gasped and his hips fell out of rhythm, and Morgan felt rather than heard him shake with a sob, because he knew right away what Morgan was doing, that it wasn’t born of lust or pleasure, but a means to help Reid end their torture as soon as possible.

“Harder baby, please, faster,” Morgan moaned, and Reid complied, and tried to pretend Morgan was shaking from need instead of pain. “Want you baby, want you so bad. Wanted this so much, wanted to feel your cock in me.” They both knew it was a lie. “Feels so good, baby. You’re so big, feel so good. Fuck me baby, fuck me.”

“Derek,” Spencer whispered, feeling the tightness in his groin despite the complete awareness that he was raping his friend, that the way his muscles squeezed was in trying to expel him, not trying to hold him in, that his gasping breaths and moans were of pain and not pleasure.

“Oh god baby, please,” Morgan moaned, gripping tighter at Reid’s back, “I’m so close, c’mon baby faster.”

Morgan’s voice was captivating even with the reality of the situation, and he could feel it pulling him towards the edge.

“Need you, need you baby. Give me what I need, oh god. I’m so close baby, so close.”

Panting Reid thrust harder, faster, not sparing thought for the fact it would hurt Morgan more, because he knew if he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to finish, and he was so close.

“Cum for me baby,” Morgan breathed throatily. “Cum inside me. I want it. Want it, baby.”

With a strangled cry and erratic jerks of his hips Reid came, groaning against Morgan’s neck as he emptied into the other man, the man squeezing impossibly tight around him.

“I’m sorry Derek,” he whispered, and Morgan could feel hot wet tears on the skin of his neck.

“Spencer please,” Morgan groaned, and for just a second Reid thought the man had been left on the edge, that he was asking to be stimulated to orgasm, but a glance confirmed Morgan’s cock as completely limp, and Reid realised it was a request for respite. As slowly and gently as he could Reid withdrew, pushing himself back onto his knees and fighting the urge to wretch at the spectacle of his penis streaked in places with blood. Semen mixed with blood leaked from Morgan’s bruised and swollen ring of muscle, and a sight that should have been basely erotic was instead horrific and shameful.

 _“Bravo!”_   the sound of clapping could be heard and the spotlight flickered into being a few seconds later. “ _Beautiful! Utterly captivating, so real. I couldn’t have asked for a better performance. I had planned for this to be the only scene you’d shoot – admittedly I doubted your abilities – but you surpassed my expectations.”_

At least he didn’t sound like he was about to kill them, Reid thought bitterly, looking at Morgan’s pained and damaged body; the price they’d paid for that.

_“Derek, I have no words to express how moving and real your performance was.”_

“It was real you son of a bitch,” Morgan muttered, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the light.

_“Now now, I respect your method acting but you’ll wear yourself out if you don’t give yourself a break. We have more scenes to shoot tomorrow. Before then, though, I think you and I are going to need to discuss some points, Spencer.”_

Reid, who was trying to decide where to put his hands when nowhere felt right, and he felt filthy, cast his eyes up towards the unsub.

_“Your performance was good, but not as fluid as Derek’s. They’re basic points, we can go over them later. The set needs to be changed, and this footage is just screaming out for an orchestral track. Now, the cameras are still rolling, and I want to intercut the sex scene with shots of post-coitus. Spencer, lay down.”_

The direction was just as appalling as what he’d just been asked to do, a twisted caricature of affection, a perversion of the many times they had laid together after sex. But he did it to avoid punishment, laying down next to Morgan and sniffing back the tears that were coming as the set lights dimmed more. Their arms touched but Morgan was glad when Reid didn’t try to embrace him; he didn’t want that after what had just happened. It didn’t want the last thing they had to be put on display for the unsub.

_“Oh perfect, perfect, the emotional distance is stunning. The cameras will keep rolling, you just stay there, and then we’ll prep to do a second take of the sex scene.”_

A laugh bubbled up from Morgan’s throat, but it was a wounded sound, like it had been kicked within an inch of its life, and suddenly it became a fractured sob. He couldn’t face the prospect of doing that again, knew that the pain would be unbearable and he’d fight; Reid would have to make the choice between refusing and getting them both shocked likely to death, or holding him down and not even have Morgan’s compliance to get through it.

Morgan’s sobbing subsided quickly, controlled again, and his gaze shifted out of focus around the candles still burning on set. They’d never had sex in candlelight, and Morgan couldn’t imagine them ever doing so. He couldn’t imagine them ever being together so intimately again without thinking of what they’d been forced to do. He wanted to say something, to tell Reid they’d get through it and be fine, their budding secret relationship would continue to grow, but he couldn’t promise that any more.

Neither man could be sure how long it was before they heard footfalls on the metal gangway again.

“Fuck. No. Fuck,” Morgan whispered.

A second set of footfalls got both of their attention, and as they sat up the lights around the edge of the studio went up, flooding the space and leaving them both dazed and blinking and bloodied, sat on the set mattress.

“Morgan? Reid?” Hotch’s voice.

“Hotch!” Reid choked out.

Soon there were dark shapes against the harsh light, the shapes of Hotch and Prentiss discernable through narrowed eyes.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked. As his eyes adjusted Reid didn’t miss Emily's body-check, and her mouthed ‘Christ’ when she clocked the blood on his genitals.

“These collars, Hotch, these collars-” the rush of relief rendered him useless, flapping his hands at his neck, heart racing.

“We’ve got a key, here-” Prentiss reached out, swiping a card through a slot in Reid’s collar which then clicked open, and then the same for Morgan’s, even though he was simply sat, bewildered.

“We need a medic,” Reid said frantically, “Morgan needs a medic, I-”

“Reid-” Morgan groaned, in too much shock to realise that the blood and semen against the insides of his thighs and coating Reid’s penis gave away what had happened. “Don’t.”

“He needs a medic, Hotch,” Reid insisted.

“I’m fine,” Morgan shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It would never be okay again.

**“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton**


End file.
